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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160204">Destiny, Inescapable</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMalapert/pseuds/TheMalapert'>TheMalapert</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Borch Meddles, Captured Yennefer, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon Ships It, Destiny, Dragon Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Hurt Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Lots of Yennefer in this one, Multi, Nightmares, Nilfgaard, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, OT3, Polyamory, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Recovery, Torture, Whipping, Witcher with a capital W, Yennefer Deserves Soft Things, but still, captured Jaskier, not too gory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:28:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,565</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMalapert/pseuds/TheMalapert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting his heart broken on a wild goose chase of a dragon hunt, Jaskier - a dragon himself - never got the chance to tell his Witcher the truth. Honestly, he's glad because now he can disappear into the clouds and grant Geralt's stupid fucking blessing. </p><p>Nilfgaard has other ideas. And like all of Jaskier's shittiest life events, those ideas end up including Yennefer of Vengerberg.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>617</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Destiny, Inescapable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Trigger advisory: there are no gruesome descriptions of various torture methods (because no actual torture happens, more of side effects of captivity), but Jaskier in his dragon form is whipped in a few different places in this fic. There are mentions of magical mind-control.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier was a young dragon by anyone’s standards. So, when Geralt clocked him as an 18 year old idiot wandering around Posada, asking for trouble, he was mostly right. Jaskier had only been in the human world long enough to learn music and fall in love. With everything and everybody. There were so few dragons left that the crush of human society was absolutely exhilarating. He wished his family would peek out of their estate once in a while with something other than fear. He’d lived among humans for damn near twenty years, and not even a Witcher had guessed at his true nature. </p><p>He was less of an idiot, after those twenty years. Still a fool, maybe, since he trailed after the man he loved like a fledgeling looking for scraps, but much less of an idiot. That was why when he laid eyes on <em> the </em> Villentretenmerth, he tried to get Geralt to run in the opposite direction. Well, he tried to seduce Borch’s women first because laying hands on another dragon’s hoard was one of life’s few pleasures. Not that people can necessarily be <em> hoard, </em>but all dragons were possessive of the things they surrounded themselves with, including friends. Of course, Destiny had other plans and foisted Yennefer upon them. Nothing to do about it but follow along and hope not to get hit with the shrapnel.</p><p>Borch didn’t out him. All the way up the mountain, Jaskier poked and prodded at the old dragon’s pride, his women, his crazy expedition. Jaskier was a brat whatever species he was. If there was a dragon up in these mountains, they were hidden and should stay that way. Borch was just asking for trouble. To be fair, so was Jaskier. He saw the way the old dragon’s eyes narrowed, and Jaskier gave his best bard’s smile. He was playing with fire, as it were, and with Geralt besotted with the mage, there was no one to control him.</p><p>Then Borch had to die ever so dramatically, and Téa and Véa had to <em> follow him</em>. </p><p>Jaskier had a hard time containing his irritation, but it all softened when he saw how torn up Geralt was about it. He nearly outed himself, but instead he tried to coax Geralt off this cursed mountain. Jaskier had had enough dragons for one decade. So he offered an escape, a release. The coast had always been so lovely to Jaskier. All those delicious storm clouds to hide him from any sailors below. All those fish at the surface waiting to be gobbled up. Granted, he hadn’t been to the coast since taking human form, but maybe it was time to show Geralt a little of his heritage. The other dragons would probably roll over and die if they ever heard he transformed in front of someone so human-adjacent, but then the idea that he might let Geralt <em> ride </em> him. Not in the sexy way, but he would welcome that too. Just the image of Geralt in the skies… it made Jaskier <em> yearn</em>. </p><p>But then like always, he fucked it up somehow. He couldn’t get his point across, couldn’t make the words that Geralt would understand. He was accused of pulling more material for his songs, and Jaskier wanted to scream. He hadn’t spent the last twenty years bipedal just for the <em> music. </em> The music was absolutely a draw, his joy, his passion, but <em> come on</em>.</p><p>Geralt went to the witch. Well, Jaskier supposed, the knight was out of the way. </p><p>Jaskier sighed and sat on his rock. He tried to do some brooding of his own, but staring out on the beautiful vista just made his skin itch. He never felt the empty aching between his shoulder blades when he had someone to distract him, but when alone, it was often all he could think about. He got off his ass and trekked higher. Sometimes, elevation would do the trick, and Geralt wasn’t around to yell at him for wandering off. There was a familiar scent on the air. Without any other purpose, Jaskier tracked it to its source. </p><p>The scent took him to a cave. Geralt complained about Jaskier’s fragrances, but dragons had sensitive noses! He knew the Witcher’s senses were similarly enhanced, and Jaskier couldn’t fathom how Geralt dealt with the gods awful stench of every monster’s viscera. Chamomile, lavender, those were proper scents! Busted kikimore ballsack? Not a proper scent!</p><p>Borch smelled like brimstone. It was so obvious, Jaskier had no idea how Geralt missed it. </p><p>“My lord, Villentretenmerth,” Jaskier said, giving a dramatic bow. </p><p>“Little bird,” the old dragon hummed, and Jaskier scowled at the nickname. He wasn’t <em> little</em>. He was built for speed, dammit! </p><p>“Feeling restless?” Borch approached the mouth of the cave where Jaskier leaned against the walls. </p><p>“You got to fly hours ago. Don’t gloat.” Jaskier kicked at the rocks, but his sour expression turned to surprise when Borch gripped his chin. Softly, the older dragon tilted Jaskier’s head up. </p><p>“He’s going to break your heart.”</p><p>Jaskier felt the truth of it wash over him like high tide. Rare dragons like Borch spoke the truth whether they wanted to or not. Jaskier closed his eyes and swallowed. </p><p>“I know,” Jaskier said, then he laughed. “Does it positively every day.”</p><p>“Just be careful when it happens. There are so few of us left. I wouldn’t want Geralt of Rivia to steal your good sense.” For a moment, Borch’s pupils slitted, pointing, betraying his true nature. Jaskier let out a huff that ruffled Borch’s shirt, heating the air around them. </p><p>“I’ll do as I bloody well please,” Jaskier muttered, making the old dragon roll his eyes.</p><p>“Youth,” he scoffed. </p><p> </p><p>Borch was right, of course, and he was witness to his words. He caught up with Jaskier at the cliff’s edge. The bard’s eyes were rimmed red, and he clutched his lute to his chest. He was standing much too close to the edge. Close enough that another human would be worried. Jaskier might have hoped Geralt would wander by and bark at him for being so stupid. Anything. Instead of finally admitting that he’d always been useless. All Jaskier wanted in the world was to bring joy, the same joy he got just by existing. Just by singing. Humanity invented this glorious form, and humanity tortured its own until they came out stronger, better, able to vanquish its foes. All Jaskier wanted was to lift up his Witcher like he should have been from the start. Geralt deserved all the elation that Jaskier gained from humanity. </p><p>Except all Jaskier had done was fuck around and make things worse. For twenty years.</p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Borch said, landing a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. </p><p>“But he’s right. I’m just Destiny’s bitch, leading him into all the futures he doesn’t want. I’ll do as he asks. He won’t ever have to hear from Jaskier the Bard again.” Jaskier rolled his shoulders, bones cracking, power flowing through him. </p><p>“Don’t throw away what you’ve built over him,” Borch said. Jaskier turned and stared at the elder dragon. Wizened even in his human form, flanked by his trusted twins. Jaskier threw his arms around Borch and hugged him tight.</p><p>“You’re the only one who ever saw value in my human life,” Jaskier said quietly. “Thank you.”</p><p>“I’ll expect to see you when my daughter is born,” Borch said. Blood was already roaring in Jaskier’s ears. The bard smiled, his teeth sharpened to points.</p><p>“Now that’ll make a song.”</p><p>Jaskier’s skin burst. His fancy doublet tore, and his lute clattered to the ground. From the shape of a human bard came a dragon. His body was slight, compared to others, but his wings stretched out in a massive, glittering display. Borch did not so much as flinch when suddenly, a dragon clung by its claws to the edge of the cliff. </p><p>“Be careful, young one,” Borch said. Jaskier let out a roar, recklessly flinging the sound far enough that the villagers at the base of the mountain would hear. Borch shook his head with a small smile. He bent at the waist to pick up Jaskier’s lute. Jaskier huffed and snapped at Borch’s toes. </p><p>The elder dragon said, “I’ll put this somewhere safe. You’ll have it back when you need it.”</p><p>Jaskier trusted the truth in Borch’s words. With a grunt, he pushed himself from the cliffs. Higher and higher, his wings beat against the light breeze. He took himself where the air turned cool, where humans might think him a trick of the eyes. When he looked back down, his dragon’s gaze caught the barest outline of Borch and his women, turned away and headed back down the mountain. </p><p>Jaskier fell into old patterns. His body felt good, like he was finally able to take a deep breath after being underwater. Heartbreak didn’t matter so much when he was crossing miles in minutes, high atop the kinds of clouds that brought pain. A Witcher was a human’s invention, something to go bump the things in the night. They didn’t matter up here, where the wind formed ice in his eyes that stung just right. Geralt’s shouted words couldn’t reach him if he flew fast enough. And fly fast he did.</p><p>He was at the coast in half a day. He flew out over the ocean, far enough that he could cruise at any elevation without the threat of discovery. He hunted the waves for dolphins and orca, resting on sand bars that appeared then were gone. The days passed, and he gave himself over to the animal. Sometimes at night he would gaze into the stars, and the ghost of a melody would taunt him from the darkness, reminding him where he’d spent the past twenty-some years. He usually barbecued a palm tree and then moved on, running from the notes on the wind. </p><p>He didn’t count the days. Time passed in meals and miles and the growing empty ache in his chest. He thought he would have lasted a little longer, but he was weak. </p><p>It happened when he was headed back. Just for a weekend. He was going to sing in a few taverns, drink a few ales, maybe bed a few wenches. He was going to ignore the very large Witcher-shaped hole in his life. He was going to… well, it didn’t matter any more. What with the harpoon through his wing. </p><p>They came out of no where. He careened out of the sky and crashed into the sands. The last thing he remembered was his fire being blocked by a simmering gray shield. His wing was tearing, ripping, <em> agony</em>, and a mage strolled out of the smoke left by his last breath.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Nilfgaard had excellent blacksmiths. It was one of the reasons their conquering took this time. Before trying to outfit a whole army, they invested in research—that was the key. It got them arrows tipped in dimertiritium. New shapes of armor. It led to the discovery that swords forged in dragon’s flames were harder, lighter, and conducted Chaos like a dream. Enchanting weapons became easier; every Captain, General, and Lieutenant had a sword that never went dull, would never break. Some of those more important men were given swords that made men bleed more than usual, kept wounds open far longer. </p><p>All they needed was a dragon. </p><p>Jaskier took back his earlier assessment. He was a great idiot, fool, and any other word that could express how stupid he was. They fit his body into a huge metal harness and strapped him onto a rotating stage. A few forges lay ahead. Shackles clicked around his clawed feet and wrists, and more chains were looped above his body, pinning him down to lay against the stage. They were kind, though, as much as one could call captors kind. His wings were unrestricted. The mage who protected the soldiers from his fire carefully extracted the harpoon, cleaning and bandaging the area. </p><p>“I have great respect for you,” she said quietly. “But we must use all tools at our disposal. Do not fight it, and we will not hurt you more than necessary.”</p><p>Jaskier felt the pull of cloying, convincing magic, and he reared his head in his chains. <em> Who did she think he was, some backwoods farmer? Puny mind magic wouldn’t work on a dragon! </em> He took a deep breath and exhaled fire. The soldiers scrambled back, and a gray shield blossomed to protect them. Not in time to shield the one who’d snapped a collar around Jaskier’s neck. Flames spilled over that soldier’s side and leg, and he fell behind the shield, screaming. </p><p>When Jaskier stopped, he felt three quick lashes split open his back. He whined, pulling the chains taut, and glaring at the mage as she rushed over to heal the soldier. She similarly glared back. </p><p>“You will do as told,” the mage said, and an invisible whip came across where his left wing connected to his back. He flinched to the side but was barely able to move. </p><p>The mage continued, “You will light these forges when the blacksmiths say.” A lash across the back of his neck. </p><p>“You will not try to hurt anyone else.” His back again. The mage stood before him and bravely reached out to put a hand on his snout. </p><p>“Do you understand?”</p><p>Jaskier snapped at her hand, and he got another ten lashes for that. </p><p> </p><p>Usually, Jaskier wouldn’t worry about scarring, but he was a troublemaker enough to expect a few new marks on his scales. They had a rotating schedule of mages the first month, and he never got to do much damage while they were there. They did some to him though. Some were happier about it than others. There was one boy, thick around the middle with kind, if a bit distant, eyes. He nearly threw up the first time he had to punish Jaskier, so Jaskier took pity on him and did as told during his shift. </p><p>There was one day that the mage was late, and he managed to kill one of the blacksmiths. They kept him flayed open for a week, so those were definitely scarring. That mage, a wispy redhead who liked to make the lashes deep, was chained to the walls of the forge to pay her penitence. Jaskier tried his best to smile at her, and her hateful glare said she got the message. They drained her Chaos to enchant weapons, and Jaskier almost felt bad for her. Almost. Every day she got paler, quieter, until one day the mage was draining her to enchant a bastard sword, and she dissolved into dust. </p><p>Fuck, Nilfgaard was brutal. </p><p>They decided they liked that system—draining both a dragon and a mage to make their weapons—so Jaskier was witness to a parade of magic users, mostly enemy combatants, he assumed. He tried not to get attached because, without fail, they were all dusted within the fortnight. </p><p>That was when he saw Yennefer of Vengerberg. </p><p>She stumbled in, beautiful dress torn and hands blackened like she’d fallen in a bed of soot. She seemed dazed, pliant beneath the jailer’s yanks. Jaskier realized she couldn’t see him. It was dark, and the jailer had left his lantern in the door. Even so, she blinked, squinted, against the blackness. Her abdomen bled sluggishly, unhelped by the way her jailer locked her arms above her head, forcing her to stand. She looked dead on her feet. </p><p>When the jailer left, Jaskier carefully extended his wing. Yennefer had closed her eyes, likely trying to get some rest after whatever hellish day she’d endured. Gently, Jaskier stroked the tip of his wing over her cheek. </p><p>Her head snapped up. “Who’s there?” She demanded. </p><p>Jaskier blew out a tiny flame, just enough to illuminate himself, but her face scrunched. Still couldn’t see, huh? Jaskier let out a larger flame, lighting the room as if it were daytime. Her eyes went wide but in understanding. A little pity. </p><p>“So they got you too, huh? I feel a little better about being captured.”</p><p>Jaskier huffed. Okay yes, it was stupid of him to get captured, but he <em> definitely </em> didn’t do it to make Yennefer feel better. </p><p>“Don’t be like that,” Yennefer said, her voice dry and rough. She collapsed into a full body shiver, and Jaskier suddenly wondered if winter had come while he was imprisoned. Without the roaring fires of the forge, the chill of the night crept in through the walls. He sniffed the air and found it colder than a human might like. </p><p>His tail scraped across the ground. He had limited motion, but he’d discovered that if he really flexed his tail muscles, he could rotate himself on his platform. He sometimes used it to entertain himself in the evenings, going round and round like a child’s toy. Jaskier moved until he was facing Yennefer. She was a fair few strides away, so his regular breathing wasn’t going to cut it. But he didn’t need to go all out and fry her. He had to concentrate. He took a deep, steadying breath and then exhaled a mouthful of hot air. He saw it tousle her greasy hair and saw her body relax in an instant. </p><p>“Oh, that’s… very nice,” Yennefer said. Jaskier huffed another warming breath, and the temperature in the forge climbed. “Thank you.”</p><p>Jaskier had never thought he’d hear those words from Yennefer of Vengerberg. </p><p>His hatred of his captors grew exponentially when it was Yennefer they were draining. Maybe he should feel bad, but his general love towards mankind couldn’t inspire the same agonizing <em> fury </em> as when he watched Yennefer scowl bravely at the day’s mage. In Jaskier’s mind, she was always meant for more. For an epic love story of power and struggle—with Geralt, obviously. Between them, Jaskier had always felt out of place, had always keenly felt how his human form stretched a little too tight around his scales. </p><p>At night, after she was fed gruel and he a raw deer, there were things she would confess. She told him of how she once was ready to kill a dragon for their heart. He already knew that, but it felt different now through his reptilian ears. He’d flattened himself against the stage, and she apologized again. Told him how she never managed to do it. She told him about this horrible man who wouldn’t stop trying to do things for her, to help her, to love her. There was malice in her tone but also a desperation. Like she wanted to love him back, uncomplicated and whole. </p><p>Their feelings about Geralt couldn’t be more different, but he understood. Sometimes, he felt like he loved Geralt against his will too. </p><p>Then one evening they took her away. She kicked and struggled, but the real panic was in her eyes. Jaskier roared, tossing fire about the room, and it summoned every mage in the facility. Their magic tore into his flesh, but still he thrashed, eyes locked on Yennefer. It wasn’t until he could no longer hear her rabbit heartbeat that he finally slumped over, succumbed to the pain. It put him in a daze, and no matter how many lashes came, he couldn’t light the forges. He could barely breathe. Jaskier didn’t know how, but Yennefer had managed to remind him of everything he loved in his life. His human life, the one that often felt more real than all the decades spent in the air. The dragon no longer wanted to bow to Nilfgaard. There was just no point. </p><p>When they brought her back, she smelled different. Off. He couldn’t see any wounds, but she held the scent of something old and wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Or rather, his wing. </p><p>“You look like shit,” she joked, and he huffed in answer. A smile—<em>dear gods, was that why everyone fell in love with her?</em>—pulled at the corners of her eyes. Jaskier fell in love with everyone he met, just a little, but he’d been too consumed with jealousy the first time around to see the potential there. It grew now, that protectiveness, that empathy. She was becoming something he claimed as <em> his, </em>and a dragon's claim didn't fall lightly. </p><p>The smile dimmed almost as soon as it came. Exhaustion was her new state in life. Still, her hands fidgeted above her head. Jaskier’s ears perked when he heard the scraping of metal. His eyes narrowed at the concentration on her face.</p><p>“Think you can still fly?” She asked, torso bowing and squirming. He growled at the insinuation, but just to be sure, he flexed out his wings. He couldn’t straighten them in the small space, but he was able to move enough to feel the air catch. The skin of his left wing had healed over thickly, a little heavier than he was used to. The welts and scabs across his back burned with every twitch, but it was bearable. He’d take any pain to fly again. </p><p>In answer to her question, he pumped his wings once, stirring the air. </p><p>“Good.” Her shackles clicked and fell to the ground. Her smile then was wicked, triumphant, and Jaskier also fell in love with this one. </p><p>She pounced on him, scraping first at the lock on his collar. Where a mage learned to lockpick, Jaskier would never know, but he nosed her shoulder gratefully when the collar snapped off. He shook his head and stretched to either side, feeling long dormant muscles ache. She went for the body harness, and he was getting impatient, shifting under her steady hands, snorting hot air until Yennefer began to sweat. When the harness came off, revealing the only unblemished skin from his stay, he bucked upwards. His chains pulled taut but the wood of the stage groaned. Yennefer scrambled back as his thrashing grew. One end of a chain ripped out of its thick wooden anchor. Next, the shackle around his right arm, then the other. Shaking, pulling, writhing, Jaskier ripped himself free. </p><p>The cacophony of chains called the night watch, and just as Yennefer climbed onto his back, all hell broke lose. Jaskier let out a roar and followed with fire the likes of which Yennefer hadn’t seen since Sodden. She laughed giddily, hysterically, and braced herself on the deep curve where Jaskier’s neck met his body. </p><p>He didn’t waste time for another mage to pop up. He broke through the ceiling, and cool night air rushed over his face. It was dizzying—the pain and the elation. His back ached, sharp pinpricks where Yennefer scrabbled for a foothold amongst the grooves of the lashes. But he was <em> flying </em> . He was <em> free. </em>Without a thought, he took himself higher than a mage on the ground could catch. </p><p>The air froze deliciously in his lungs, caressed his wings. He spun, coming to hover above the sparse clouds, where the night stars burst all around them. His focus narrowed from mindless glee to the human clinging to his back when Yennefer let out a cough. A wheeze. Her body trembled. </p><p>Fuck, he was stupid. </p><p>Jaskier dove, making sure Yennefer didn’t slide off, to warmer air, heights where a human could breathe. </p><p>“Thank you,” she rasped.</p><p>It was closer to the ground than he wanted, but Jaskier put all his remaining energy into getting as far away as possible. He traced his way up the coast, headed north where Nilfgaard had a looser hold. Close enough to shore in case he or Yennefer suddenly fell out. </p><p>He managed to fly for the rest of the night and ended up at the very tip of Korvir. He found himself a patch of wild lands, bringing them down into a frozen valley between two small hills. </p><p>Yennefer slid off his back as soon as he touched ground. Unconscious. Jaskier panicked and fumbled her limp body with his claws. This was a job best befitting his human hands, but Jaskier couldn’t feel the magic to turn himself back. Could barely feel his limbs enough to lay her out properly. </p><p>Heat. </p><p>It was cold, and he wasn’t in the position to force anything helpful down her throat. But he could keep her warm. Jaskier wanted nothing more than to curl around her and breathe heat back into her body, but he also needed to rest. As soon as he dropped off, he wouldn’t be monitoring himself, wouldn’t be giving her what she needed. So Jaskier took one last flight. It was thankfully short. The moose napping by a nearby pond didn’t know what hit him when Jaskier stuck a claw cleanly through his skull. Careful not to snap it in half or fling the blood around, Jaskier brought the hulking animal back to Yennefer.</p><p>Her pulse was weak, but she was breathing evenly. Small mercies. He pulled the still-warm carcass to her sleeping form. Here was the hard part. The headache around his dragon-brain told him to forget about the human, but he snarled at himself and shuffled closer. He ended up rolling Yennefer until she was nestled into the belly of the moose. Its meaty legs offered some idea of a blanket, and its fur trapped Yennefer’s own heat. Content and about to pass out himself, Jaskier curled around the moose’s body to block any wind. His mind was yanked into unconsciousness. </p><p> </p><p>..</p><p> </p><p>Yennefer awoke to a lumpy, fuzzy surface and the barest scent of decay. It was not enough to keep her, and she slipped back under. The next time, she woke to a painful twisting in her stomach. She retched, eyes flying open blindly, but there was nothing in her to give. Saliva welled in her mouth, and with a grimace, she swallowed down the bile. With aching limbs, she untangled herself from whatever furry contraption weighed her down. </p><p>A moose. </p><p>She nearly laughed, but the impulse made her hunger pangs snarl. Around the moose that was her bed, the dragon she’d spent the past week with was curled and breathing evenly. Her heart clenched as she looked around their little campsite. A pile of ripped saplings sat awaiting a light, and two dead deer were slumped over a low branch downwind. A berry bush had been uprooted and was sitting next to the wood pile. Then just next to that was a mound of loose dirt, wild turnip leaves sticking out like flowers in spring. </p><p>Yennefer fell on the turnips first, not caring how much grit she got between her teeth. She wiped the bulbs on her tattered dress and bit into them like apples, tasting wet earth and bitter juices. It calmed the rage in her gut. After devouring three, she took a break and rifled through the berries. Lips stained and hunger sated, she turned back around to find the dragon watching. </p><p>Her mouth split into a grin. </p><p>“Well, we did it, didn’t we? I see you’ve prepared a feast for our celebration!” </p><p>Jaskier’s head lolled to the side, tongue peeking out in a rather canine display. Yennefer had no choice but to laugh, and it echoed amongst the tightly packed trees at the edge of their campsite. He bounced onto all fours, trotting over. He pushed his nose into her stomach, inhaling deeply, and Jaskier snuffled about her like Roach looking for sugar cubes. Yennefer tried to push his great snout away, but she was giggling too much. </p><p>She still smelled off. </p><p>Perhaps this was what she always smelled like? Underneath that lilac and gooseberry perfume. Or maybe this was the scent of mage blood? In his life, Jaskier tried to avoid most mages on principle. None of his theories could put him at ease. </p><p>“Come, you must be hungry too. Let us build the fire and dance naked under the moon like the witches of old,” Yen said with a particular flair that would have brought proud tears to Jaskier’s human eyes. Had Yen not been a mage, she would have made an excellent troubadour. At least, that’s the story he’d stick to later. </p><p>He took her to the pond, and she drank from the running stream that filled it. They did make a fire, and there was a small amount of dancing. Less nudity, which Jaskier was grateful for and disappointed in equal measure. At least if she kept her clothes on, he ran no risk of needing to pull her back from the edge of hypothermia. She ended up resting against his shoulder, propped up between his arm and his neck. A protected position. She idly picked blades of grass and slipped them into the fire. </p><p>“A few weeks ago, I thought life had given me all it could offer, so I went to war,” Yennefer said quietly, staring into the flames. Jaskier huffed and curled tighter, nosing at her boots. </p><p>She stroked a hand down his neck and continued, “Now I know that’s not true. If I had died, I would have never ridden a dragon. I would have never eaten wild turnips.”</p><p>Jaskier pulled his lip over his teeth. They weren’t that good. </p><p>“I have to leave tomorrow.”</p><p>Jaskier jerked his head back and snarled. Who did she think she was? Not even a Witcher could heal that quickly! He was just beginning to feel that natural swirl of magic around her once again, dimmed as it had been from Nilfgaard’s pilfering. Sure, color had returned to her cheeks, but Jaskier had planned to camp out for another week, recovering her strength, <em> taking care of her. </em>Why could Yen never allow anyone to take care of her?</p><p>Gods, now he was empathizing with Geralt. Just kill him. </p><p>“Before I was captured, I was at the Battle of Sodden Hill. Nilfgaard had taken Cintra, and we were to be the last defense to the north,” Yennefer said, and Jaskier let out a plaintive whine. </p><p>
  <em> Cintra.  </em>
</p><p>He knew a very bright young princess in Cintra. </p><p>“I watched most of them—the people I’d known the longest, my—my friends, I watched them die.”</p><p>That reluctance, that weight, pulling on a simple word like <em> friends</em>. She and Geralt really were made for each other. Jaskier fanned out his wings to create a dome around them as if to shield her from the memories that were making those creases in her forehead. </p><p>“But they’re not the only friends I have. There’s a man who, if he did the right thing which he <em> disgustingly </em>always does—“</p><p>Definitely Geralt.</p><p>“—he’ll be running from Nilfgaard too. With winter setting in, I think I know where he’ll be. I need help while I recover, and I bet he’ll need help too with his… surprise. I’m telling you all this because you should come with me.”</p><p>Jaskier dug his snout into the ground and huffed out a cloud of dirt. He wanted to go with Yennefer, insofar as a dragon could follow a sorceress anywhere. He couldn’t go with her to Kaer Morhen, though. Not in dragon form; certainly not in human form. The idea of carefully avoiding Geralt while watching as he and Yennefer made up… It made his heart ache. </p><p>Besides, there was still a Nilfgaardian encampment down the coast that could use some razing. He lifted his head and peered back the way they came, flame licking his lips at the next breath. </p><p>“I could use a friend,” Yen said, and her hand caressed over his jaw. </p><p>That was unfair.</p><p>Jaskier whined and let his head fall heavily to the ground. He couldn’t go with her; he couldn’t. His heart couldn’t take another blow like that. First watching her and Geralt hurt each other, then finding out Geralt thought Jaskier could only make things <em> worse</em>. Knowing that Geralt was right, that Geralt would never turn to Jaskier and see a refuge, a confidant, <em> a friend.  </em></p><p>“Fine,” she spat, knees curling up to her chest. “I will find myself in Ard Carraigh after the snow melts.”</p><p>He wished he could speak. Borch was old enough, practiced at communicating with his women that he could speak through his thoughts—a talent Jaskier had never mastered. If he didn’t think she would flay him alive, he would shrink back into his human form and explain all of it, just as she had been so sweetly talking to him. But Jaskier wasn’t ready to have that talk yet. He would live in her mind for another season as the dragon who helped her escape. Maybe by spring he would be brave enough to tarnish her image of him by merging it with the bard. </p><p>Instead he nuzzled his wide head into her thigh. </p><p>“I get it.” Her hand pet over his snout. “You’ve got to be free.”</p><p><em> It’s not that I promise, </em> Jaskier would have said. <em> Bind me. I’ll prove it to you.  </em></p><p>And wasn’t that an idea? For another time and place, but he would let Yennefer do all manner of binding with him. </p><p>Unlike some, he wouldn’t mind so much to have that bit of destiny like a string pulling them closer. He wouldn’t mind being tied, familiar, <em> wanted. </em>She was offering that to him, for a while, but how long until she realized she wanted it back? When he revealed himself as the gnat of a bard who’d traded quips with her for the past decade? Perhaps later, after he’d formed his life around her, poured his craft into her image, then she would realize he wasn’t useful for anything. A bit of fun, a bit of conversation, but not the years they had stretched before them like the endless deserts of Nazair. </p><p>That had already happened, once. </p><p>He tried not to hurt about it now while Yennefer was steadily falling asleep against his shoulder. He tried to remind himself that Geralt was used to his quiet and his jobs and his coin. Jaskier liked to meddle with the things Geralt didn’t allow himself to have. A day in court with fine ladies and finer wine—struck out, admittedly. But there had been other things. Scented oils and soaps to chase away the acrid stench of monster guts. The occasional sweet treat when passing through a town with a decent bakery. He’d once bought a bag of rock candy from a boy with his own cute little stall at the market—nothing more than sugar water flavored with a little berry juice and hardened for eating. </p><p>But the smile. After he’d convinced Geralt to take a bite, turning away to give the Witcher his privacy to enjoy it, he’d caught the cloudy image of Geralt <em> smiling </em>in the small hand mirror he’d laid on the bedside table. </p><p><em> They’re alright</em>, Geralt had admitted when Jaskier found his bones enough to turn around again. The bag was empty by morning, and Jaskier picked up more on their way out of town. </p><p>The little things. Of course, no amount of little things could cancel out the bigger things, Jaskier supposed. A million pouches of candy couldn’t redeem him from placing Geralt in Calanthe’s warpath. Fine-smelling hair was paltry in the face of interrupting the solitary Witcher’s quest for a night’s sleep. And all that came after. </p><p>The little things. </p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier woke alone. </p><p>That emptiness in his chest howled, and he would have tipped back his head to sing his sorrows to the wind but—not this close to civilization. He was not so careful last time, but he wouldn’t waste his second chance. </p><p>He took another day to recover. Yennefer was stupidly impatient, and he hoped wherever her portal spat her out at least kept her in one piece. After eating the whole moose, he was feeling markedly better. When he stayed still too long, he felt those chains wrapped around him like feeling the waves after a long day of swimming. Jaskier paced, stretched, and flew lowly around in the trees. His maneuvering wasn't what it used to be, but he would gain it back. </p><p>He set out for the Nilfgaardian encampment. He was cautious this time—smart. He came from the sea, high up, and dove. By the time the mages realized what happened, half the compound was on fire. </p><p>And it was glorious. Yennefer would have been proud. </p><p>Flames danced like couples at Belletyen, pouring from his snarled lips. He let himself go, over to the tantalizing smell of burnt flesh, the melody of their soldiers screaming, the dragon razing his captors. He saw the mages form up in a group, their pitiful attempt to summon Chaos. It only made them an easier target. Not one soldier got away. Not one blacksmith or mage or jailer. So fortified and protected from outside attack, their compound caged them in for long enough that Jaskier only saw ashes. </p><p>He descended to bask in the destruction, and a body darted through the courtyard. With sharpened focus, Jaskier could hear the man’s half-feral heartbeat and no one else’s. Just a dragon alone with his prey. Jaskier darkened the ground where he blocked the feeble sunlight, and the man looked back, whites of his eyes gleaming, before Jaskier dug claws into his back, bringing him down. </p><p>Jaskier felt the power thrumming to his veins, and he took a risk. As the man groaned, feebly trying to pull himself through the dirt, Jaskier shifted back into his human form for the first time in a long while. </p><p>How odd it was to stand on two feet again. </p><p>He kept his eyes and his knife teeth, just for a bit of fun. The man—the mage, Jaskier realized, recognizing him from the forges—wailed when he looked up to see the dragon replaced with something humanoid but decidedly not human. Jaskier thought that sometimes he scared people more like this, so close to being familiar but anyone could see the wrongness in his sharp smile. Like how people looked at Geralt. </p><p>“I can’t fix her! I can’t!” The mage cried, fat tears making dirty rivers over his cheeks. </p><p>“Who?” Jaskier growled. His voice, nearly the low grumble of a Witcher after so long without. </p><p>“The sorceress!”</p><p>
  <em> Yennefer.  </em>
</p><p>Jaskier took hold of the man with a snarl, lifting him clear off the ground by his throat. “<em>What did you do to her? </em>”</p><p>“I can’t fix it but—“ Jaskier squeezed, just to see the man struggle to breathe, to dole out some of the suffering he’d had for <em> months. </em> “The name! Of the thing. <em> Snurobak. </em>”</p><p>The last syllable was followed closely by a muted <em> crack</em>, and the man fell dead at Jaskier’s feet. </p><p>Fuck fuck fuck. Sleeper worms. Mind worms. Dark, disgusting magic—no wonder she smelled so off. </p><p>And she was in Kaer Morhen with Geralt. </p><p>Ciri. </p><p>Jaskier ripped through his skin with a thought, long wings stirring the dust. He was in the air the next instant, spiraling so high; Jaskier would have to travel during the day, so he would need the altitude. It made him loopy after a while, the thin air getting to even a dragon, but he flew with a one track mind. </p><p>
  <em> Get to Yennefer. Save Yennefer. Save Geralt. Save the princess.  </em>
</p><p>He didn’t even spare a thought for how funny it was. All the tall tales to live up to, and he was rushing about to <em> save </em>a princess.</p><p>The first day, his back ached, still healing, but by the second, everything had numbed into the panicked mantra. <em> Save save save. </em>He stopped sometime in the night, taking down a few saplings as he crashed, and he slept for a scant few hours. He stayed long enough to find water and eat the belly of a stag, and he was off again. </p><p>Three days. His frantic flight across the north took three days of near constant travel. A blizzard nearly a hundred miles across made him detour south, wasting an entire day, wasting precious time that Nilfgaard could have been using Yennefer against the ones she loved. When he finally spotted the crumbled keep in the mountains, he didn’t bother hiding in the clouds. He used the light breeze and coasted until he perched on a crumbling tower, dizzy from the stillness. His ears flooded with their alarm. </p><p>“<em>Holy shit.” </em></p><p>“Is that a fucking <em> dragon?” </em></p><p>“Ciri, get back inside.”</p><p>“Wait, Geralt, don’t—“</p><p>Jaskier zeroed in on that voice, so familiar after sharing a torture chamber. Though his vision was blurry, doubling in some places, he saw them standing in the courtyard. Geralt and his brothers formed up between the threat and the women. </p><p>Jaskier let out a pained whine. There was no time to explain. If he shifted and told them—Yennefer could turn on them at any second—he couldn’t know she wouldn’t do so at being caught. Had no idea how far the connection went or how independant the wretched mind-worm could act. But he knew he could burn it out of her, without hurting her. He had enough control over his fire. </p><p>Jaskier the Bard, the dragon, the fool, wrote his final act with a billowing inhale. </p><p>The confusion of Yennefer’s eyes. The determination in Geralt’s. Ciri, caught somewhere between wonder and fear. Jaskier closed his eyes, focusing on his magic, on the flames, and he <em> roared.  </em></p><p>Fire filled the courtyard, and it drew a map in Jaskier’s mind. Everything it touched. He kept it from the ancient trees cracking through the walls, poised to let it wash over the other four human shapes, but his fire traced a large bubble instead. His eyes popped open, and he growled at the sight of a shining golden shield. He lurched off the tower to swoop down, blasting fire directly onto its shimmering surface. He saw one of the brothers—scarred, dark mop of hair, <em> Eskel</em>—crumple to the ground, and the shield broke. </p><p>Jaskier dove. Lambert lunged at Eskel’s body, rolling him out of the way, and Geralt tackled Ciri to the ground. Yennefer held her hand up, Chaos trickling through her like a dammed stream, but Jaskier was faster. He curved off his descent, beating his wings hard, knocking everyone away from his landing. Away from each other. </p><p>Before the Witchers recovered, he was on Yennefer, careful of his claws—still bloodied—as he pinned her shoulders. His fire burst between them, and he tasted her magic on his tongue. Bitter, raw, <em> powerful</em>, he could drown himself in the taste. She struggled under his grasp, still not comprehending how the fire seemed nothing more than a cool breeze on her skin. Yennefer gasped from where she’d been holding her breath, and that was the opening Jaskier was waiting for. </p><p>His fire poured into her mouth, her nostrils, feeling her throat contract in a scream and feeling his magic pool in her head. The fucking thing was latched on right at the base of her brain, and Jaskier grinned, full of razor teeth, when he let loose his flames to crisp it. He could hear the echo of its death throes through his magic, and he snarled triumphantly, the last of the fire dying out from his mouth. </p><p>Her eyes spun with power, gloriously violet, and her brow furrowed as she turned her head. Felt a fog lift, a weight drop away. Her wonder turned to fear, and she screamed—</p><p>“Geralt, don’t!”</p><p>A sword pierced straight through his shoulder. Geralt’s body slammed into his side, knocking Jaskier off of Yennefer. The dragon let out a screech, dropped to his belly, tried to pull away, but Geralt held fast. His firm grip on the sword, weight tearing at the wound, and Geralt brandished a dagger towards Jaskier’s flailing neck. </p><p>Terror at the glint of steel, Jaskier bucked, slinging Geralt into the puddle of a melted snowbank. He rolled, landed on his feet with his teeth bared. Jaskier felt another blade slice into his back leg and keened, curling to find Ciri dancing away, his blood on her dull practice sword. She retreated at Geralt’s shout, Lambert materializing in front of her, hand at the ready to spell Quen, to protect her from Jaskier. </p><p>From Jaskier. </p><p>He was hyperventilating, couldn’t breathe fire if he wanted to. The wound in his shoulder was spilling onto the ground. Red mixed with gray sludge on the ancient stone, mesmerizing Jaskier as he tipped back, unable to stand anymore. His eyes crossed, then uncrossed, vision returned just long enough to see Geralt heft a dagger from afar. To see Yennefer dashing forward, fingers poised brokenly. Geralt let the dagger fly, such perfect fucking aim it used to marvel Jaskier. </p><p>It stopped inches from piercing his breast, that bitter gooseberry magic flowing through the air. </p><p>Jaskier took a shuddering breath and slumped against the wall of the keep he’d wanted to see since meeting his Witcher. <em> Let them know it was me. </em> He felt his limbs changing, shrinking. The sword pushing out of his shoulder as he shifted. <em> Let them sing at Jaskier’s grave.  </em></p><p>A choked sob. Lilac wind. </p><p>Jaskier’s eyes closed. </p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Geralt dropped to his knees at the sight of his darkest nightmare. A broken cry, and Yennefer was stumbling towards the body, blood soaking her boots, her dress. The pale form of the once-dragon bathed in it, still gushing red from his shoulder and calf. </p><p>
  <em> Jaskier.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jaskier, why? </em>
</p><p>Geralt wanted to shake himself awake, sure this was the kind of dream that he’d find a sweat-soaked bedroll and nail imprints in his palms come morning. But the stench of blood, melted snow, Ciri’s whirling disgust, confusion, sorrow—it was all real. </p><p>As Yennefer rasped out elder, drawing from an empty well, Geralt managed to crawl forward, limbs almost numb. He hoped, prayed, that he would have never had to see Jaskier, covered in his own blood, <em> dying. </em>Geralt’s throat closed, and he nearly retched—his sword lying in the mess within arms reach. His sword that dealt Jaskier’s killing blow. </p><p>Yennefer was crying now, tips of her fingers turning black, and Geralt reached out to grasp her wrist. </p><p>“Take it. Anything. Everything you need.” He knew he didn’t have magic like a mage, like she needed, but he would give anything.</p><p>He felt a pull in his gut, and Jaskier’s breathing rattled through his chest. Geralt was thrown back to Rinde, another time Jaskier bled. <em> His fault</em>. Geralt begged under his breath—to Melitele, to that bitch Destiny. He collected his child surprise, reconciled with Yennefer; <em> please don’t take him from me. I’ve done as you asked, please.  </em></p><p>A splash of watery blood speckled his thighs as Ciri hunched next to Yennefer. The girl offered her hand, eyes wide. </p><p>“I have more, you know I have. I want to help,” she said, and Geralt’s heart thumped painfully. </p><p>“Ciri,” he whimpered. </p><p>“Shut up,” Yennefer snarled. </p><p>Jaskier’s body started to warm, feverish against the winter air. His slack face began to pinch, and Geralt bowed, placing his forehead against the slippery ground in supplication. Yennefer’s arms trembled, and the air tasted metallic, blood and magic. Geralt’s joints ached like waking up after being swallowed by a selkimore, and he knew Yennefer was draining as much as she could. </p><p>“Okay,” Yennefer said, sucking down air like a racehorse. “Get him inside. We still have a lot of work to do.”</p><p> </p><p>By the end, Ciri was deathly pale and passed out on the floor. Eskel and Vesemir had spent the night scouring the library and brewing anything that might be helpful, sending Lambert out into the snow to their known herb spots. Geralt was barely hanging on after hours of tending to Yennefer, watching her determination blaze almost as bright as dragon fire. </p><p>Jaskier wasn’t out of the woods, but they had to stop. </p><p>“No,” Yennefer growled. “You don’t understand. He <em> saved </em> me. <em> Twice</em>.”</p><p>“I understand,” Geralt said, drawing her close, tucking her under his chin. “But I can’t lose you both.”</p><p>He’d loved Jaskier for years, but he couldn’t lose Yennefer to this too. </p><p>She slept next to Jaskier, hardly leaving the room for a week, until Ciri was able to coax her down to the hot springs. Geralt promised to monitor him while she was gone, and he did, but he mostly talked. About Ciri, about his hunts. Everything Jaskier would have demanded had he been awake. He and Ciri dragged another bed into their makeshift medbay, and they all slept with one ear open for Jaskier’s awakening. </p><p> </p><p>He did wake eventually. In the middle of the night when the dark was choking him and phantom chains drove him from his bed to tremble on the floor. Jaskier pressed a hand around his throat where there was no collar and drifted down to his chest where there was no harness. His shoulder—where Geralt had valiantly thrust his sword—still ached, but he was alive. Unchained. Yennefer’s scent lingered in his nose, undisturbed by the <em> Snurobak’s </em>putrid stench. </p><p>It took a long time for him to calm. When he finally did, he took stock of himself. Jaskier found himself in much better shape than he had expected, especially considering he expected to die. His shoulder would never be the same, and he felt the thick ridges where his back rubbed against the wall. His clothes smelled familiar too. He reached out with his senses, finding three heartbeats steady in the room. Tears slipped down his face. </p><p>
  <em> His family.  </em>
</p><p>Oh gods, he wanted it to be. He wanted to wake to this every morning, not just when he’d been lingering on the edge of death. Not just when they felt guilty for putting him there. </p><p>He felt a whirlpool open in his chest, sucking him down, spinning him round and round and round until he was positively dizzy with despair. This used to happen his first year in his human body—this unbridled panic that he couldn’t reign in. He used to play something on his lute to break himself out of it, but <em> his lute</em>… Fucking Borch! Jaskier tried to whip his scattered thoughts into submission. Sometimes Pricilla would stick a lemon in his mouth. One memorable time, Valdo pushed him in a freezing river. Brutish but effective. </p><p>But there was nothing here, only the harsh pull of his breath and the darkness and the heavy weight around his neck—</p><p>Someone shifted in the bed. </p><p>“Yennefer?” A little voice croaked, and Jaskier held onto it like a lifeline. </p><p>“Just me, darling,” Jaskier said. He fumbled around as Ciri slid out of bed to join him on the floor. Jaskier found the leg of a table and clumsily searched its surface until finding a nearly-melted candle. </p><p>Ah, what the hell. Jaskier held it in front of his lips and breathed the tiniest bit of flame onto it. No reason to hide anymore. </p><p>Cirilla’s eyes squinted, but her mouth popped open with a reverent, “Oh wow.”</p><p>She looked gaunt in the low light of the flickering candle, so different from when he would perform at her name-day celebration. Always under the watchful eye of Calanthe, always questioned—sometimes beaten—afterwards for information on Geralt. Her eyes were puffy, lids heavy from lack of sleep. Her nightclothes swallowed her, and the state of her hair was troubling. Jaskier resolved to show her some proper care once his fingers stopped trembling. </p><p>“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Jaskier said lowly, very aware of the two still sleeping. Ciri lunged at him and pressed her cheek against his chest, hands twisting into the shoulders of his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her instantly, smoothing a hand over her hair. </p><p>“You didn’t come,” she said and sniffed. “Grandmother said no one could find you, so they had to get another bard. He wasn’t as good as you.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Ciri. I was quite busy this year,” Jaskier explained, but he couldn’t hide the tightness in his voice. His throat still hadn’t recovered from spending so long in his other form; he hardly recognized the dry rasp that came out of his mouth. Again, he wondered how long he’d spent in that Nilfgaardian forge, but he kept himself from doing the math. </p><p>“They did everything to save you.” Ciri’s hands twisted in her lap. “Is that what they do for their friends?”</p><p>“Oh, darling, I—“ Jaskier’s eyes flicked towards the lump in Ciri’s bed, and he <em> knew </em> that heartbeat. “They are good people. You’re in the best hands on the continent.”</p><p>“Yennefer said there was something bad inside her that you killed, so, thanks I guess,” Ciri said. </p><p>Jaskier’s stomach made itself known, and he said, “Why don’t you show me to the kitchens, dear, and I’ll tell you all about our daring escape from the Nilfgaardian camp.”</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Geralt jerked awake, hand slapping down onto an empty bed. The sound startled Yennefer out of her fitful sleep, and she blinked blearily at the darkness. </p><p>“Where’s Ciri?” Geralt rasped, and he heard the sheets shift frantically under Yen’s hands. </p><p>“Where’s Jaskier?”</p><p>Geralt’s blood ran cold. Despite logic and rational thought trying to reign in his panic, he felt his heart kick into high gear. Geralt threw himself out of bed and joined Yennefer as they sprinted out of the room. Geralt followed his nose, sniffing out Jaskier’s scent that had been previously sequestered to the medbay. It led them to the kitchen, and they skidded to a stop in front of a scene neither of them would forget in a long time. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Ciri asked quietly, but in the silence, it echoed like drums. Jaskier’s lips were pressed hard against his mug, filled with steaming milk. One hand rubbed circles over his chest. </p><p>“Trying not to think, darling,” Jaskier said with a wan smile. Ciri understood fully, her face pinching in the dim, flickering light of the fireplace. </p><p>“It doesn’t look like it’s working,” Ciri replied. “I can’t ever seem to do it.”</p><p>Jaskier sat his mug down with a clack. “We can’t have that, princess. Come.”</p><p>He held out his hand for her to take, and he guided her in front of the fireplace. He put their backs to it to face the writhing shadows it created against the opposite wall. The darkness undulated like a living thing, wrapping its tendrils around pots and pans, making them goblins and wraiths. It crept into the crevices of the oven, and they burgeoned, the iron-wrought thing becoming a hunched troll or a fiend. </p><p>“What do you see?” Jaskier asked.</p><p>“Just the shadows.”</p><p>Jaskier cocked his eyebrow, edge of his mouth pulling up. His hand slithered into the air, and Ciri watched the shadow of it dance in the moving tapestry of dark shapes. His body sagged to the side, becoming one with the monstrous oven, and his arms undulated in the air like charmed snakes. Ciri glanced over to his solid body—the one that was real, was right there next to her—and he looked ridiculous. </p><p>“Sometimes it’s not enough to look at the shadows. You’ve got to remember you can dance too.” His gaze slid back to the wall, and he put his whole body into it. Sinuous and lithe, his form melted into the twisting shadows. </p><p>Ciri stood mesmerized until her eyes landed on the dull shape of her frizzy hair. She nodded slowly to one side, then the other. She cupped her face with her hands, a new figure poised on the wall. She fell into it as well, twisting, undulating with heathen abandon all to the rhythm of the crackling fire. Her mind felt cloaked. Like peering into the darkness underneath a thick blanket. </p><p>Geralt’s harsh exhale shattered the moment. Both bard and princess snapped from their trance, finding Witcher and mage in the doorway. </p><p>“Jaskier,” Yennefer breathed. “You crazy bastard.” She was across the room in two strides, and he didn’t have time to flinch before she threw her arms around him. Jaskier melted into the hug, curling around her like he was in his dragon form again, protecting her from the elements. When he looked up, Geralt was gone from the doorway. It felt like ice in his chest, but he beat it back. </p><p>Jaskier cleared his throat. “You’re alright.”</p><p>“Of course I’m alright,” Yennefer scoffed. “I wasn’t the one with a sword through my fucking chest! If you’d just taken ten fucking minutes to shift back and <em> tell </em>us anything—“</p><p>“I couldn’t risk it, Yen. I couldn’t risk you. Or Geralt. Or Ciri.” He saw the girl smiling like he was the first flower of spring, but his attention snapped back to Yennefer when she put a hand to his cheek. </p><p>“Fuck this.” </p><p>She was kissing him. </p><p>Fuck, she was kissing him. </p><p>Her lips weren’t soft, but they were hers. He’d certainly kissed more talented, but <em> Yennefer of Vengerberg </em>was kissing him. Everything else was mildly irrelevant. </p><p>A gruff, familiar cough made Yennefer pull back. </p><p>Ah yes, Geralt. </p><p>He was there in the doorway again, looking a bit abashed. Jaskier’s lute was clenched gingerly in his hand, and Jaskier swelled at the sight of it. Geralt lumbered forward like approaching a wounded animal. </p><p>“It was with Roach after the—after I yelled at you on the mountain. I thought something had happened to you, and I tracked your footsteps to the cliff’s edge.” Geralt’s voice broke, and Jaskier watched the Witcher’s face fold underneath his anguish. “Borch was gone. I thought he might have taken you somewhere, and I tried all your usual places. Oxenfurt, Novigrad. Even Lettenhove. Then I just accepted that you didn’t want to be found.”</p><p>“I was on my way back before they captured me,” Jaskier said. He couldn’t look at any of them, so he looked at the shadows on the wall. “I was going to look for you. See if you’d have me travel with you again.”</p><p>“Yes, Jaskier,” Geralt choked out, and finally, his bulk wrapped around Jaskier’s tense body. The bard relaxed into the embrace, and he felt Geralt whisper into his hair, “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“It had to happen,” Jaskier said, and he knew Geralt was about to protest when the Witcher went rigid. “Just like all those things you said. You had to meet Yennefer. You had to claim Ciri. You had to send me away, so I could be there when Yennefer was captured.”</p><p>“Destiny,” Yennefer laughed breathlessly. </p><p>Geralt’s brow furrowed like early in their companion days when Jaskier would do something nice, and he couldn’t puzzle out why. Jaskier let out a giggle. It only made Geralt scowl harder, and this was familiar. Something lifted from Jaskier’s chest—something that felt like a harness, like grainy metal—and his eyes watered for a happy reason. </p><p>“But I—“ Geralt’s words, such fickle things, failed him. His gaze darted around to his family, and his grip loosened on Jaskier. The bard tried to step back, but Geralt kept an arm looped about his waist. The Witcher reached out to caress Ciri’s cheek and then over to take Yennefer’s hand. </p><p>Geralt began again, “You should know. You all should know. I would choose this again. Not Nilfgaard, but—“</p><p>“We understand, Geralt.” </p><p>The Witcher’s hand curled into the back of Jaskier’s chemise, and he picked up the mug of warm milk. </p><p>“Come on. You shouldn’t be out of bed yet. I’ll bring you anything you need,” Geralt said, and he guided Jaskier out of the kitchen. Yennefer and Ciri fell into step behind them. </p><p>“Hmm, what about things I want?” Jaskier asked, not quite smothering an impish grin.</p><p>Geralt’s eyes glowed like dragon’s gold in the dark, and his lips curled at the edges. “Whatever pleases you, Jask.”</p><p>And he kept that promise. </p><p> </p><p>It took a week for Yennefer to pronounce him in good health. He thought he’d be able to wheedle himself from the sickbed before that, considering the heated looks from both mage and Witcher alike, but Yennefer was thorough in her healing. In that time, he read probably a thousand books, only a few of them even remotely interesting. The rest were dry and factual bestiaries that Ciri also agreed sucked. They made up their own stories sometimes after lunch when Geralt and Yennefer had other things to attend to. Jaskier had a sneaking suspicion they listened in anyways.</p><p>He started composing by day three. The forge still haunted him, but when he woke sweaty and gasping, Yennefer was there. Geralt was there. Ciri was there. When they moved him from the medbay to his very own room, they took turns sleeping with him, even Ciri. He imagined their conversation where Yen and Geralt were working out custody over his sleep schedule, and Ciri managed to insert herself into the rotation. </p><p>His first song was for her. </p><p>He took an old Cintran lullaby and adapted it for her life at the harsh keep with her soft Witchers. </p><p>His second song was more complicated. Unfinished. </p><p>It took them all of ten minutes after deciding him healed for Geralt and Yennefer to drag him to bed. They had apparently discussed it at some length, and though they hadn’t bothered to include Jaskier, the bard couldn’t argue with the results. </p><p>When Geralt was breathing quietly against his shoulder and Yennefer was stroking her fingers through his sweaty hair, Jaskier finally felt content. </p><p>“You know, I liked you before I knew you were a dragon,” Yennefer said conversationally. </p><p>“Oh bullshit,” Jaskier laughed. “You couldn’t stand me. And Geralt valiantly tolerated me.”</p><p>Geralt hummed into Jaskier’s skin. “Not true.”</p><p>“Not true,” Yen agreed. “Geralt, should I tell him about the time you said his name in bed or about the time I did?”</p><p>“Yours’s funnier,” Geralt said. “Everyone expected me.”</p><p>“Not everyone—!” Jaskier squawked, but he was cut off by Geralt thumbing over his lip. </p><p>“Want the story or not?” Geralt asked. </p><p>And fuck. </p><p>Jaskier wanted the story. </p><p>“Good,” Geralt rumbled, petting over Jaskier’s swollen bottom lip. The bard let out a whimper. </p><p>“Well, our paths crossed in Novigrad, and you were performing at the brothel with that fucking lip rouge the whores gave you—“</p><p>Jaskier remembered. </p><p>“I’d never wanted to rail a man so hard in my life, and you were still performing when I bent Geralt over the Madame’s desk—“</p><p><em> Oh, </em>Jaskier would give anything to see that. Yennefer and Geralt were glorious together, and he was ever so glad he’d gotten over his jealousy if only so he could be an enthusiastic witness. It didn’t hurt he got to be between them now too. </p><p>“You were practically fucking those whores with your voice, and Geralt was meeting my thrusts hard, wishing it was your cock instead of mine, and I couldn’t stop picturing it. You in my place, <em> and </em> you in Geralt’s—“</p><p>All of that could be arranged, Jaskier thought. With Geralt curled against his side and Yennefer’s voice humming low in his ear, Jaskier felt he could do anything. Ask for anything. Take up space in their tragic but maybe not so tragic love story. His latest unfinished work was filling out as Yennefer purred filthy, impossible things. He wondered if they’d let him out of their bed long enough to perform it for them, maybe get a few reviews. Three words or less.</p><p>He added it to the steadily growing list of things he would ask of the people that pleased him. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I &lt;3 a happy ending and an OT3. *Youtuber voice* Like, comment, and subscribe!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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